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THE TITAN
Pity the poor earthling caught in the toils of the moral law. In another country, perhaps, in another day, another age, such a situation
would have been capable of a solution, one not utterly destructive
to Mr. Sluss, and not entirely favorable to a man like Cowperwood.
But here in the United States, here in Chicago, the ethical verities
would all, as he knew, be lined up against him. What Lake View
would think, what his pastor would think, what Hand and all his
moral associates would think — ah, these were the terrible, the incontrovertible consequences of his lapse from virtue.
At four o’clock, after Mr. Sluss had wandered for hours in
the snow and cold, belaboring himself for a fool and a knave, and
while Cowperwood was sitting at his desk signing papers, contemplating a glowing fi re, and wondering whether the mayor would
deem it advisable to put in an appearance, his offi ce door opened
and one of his trim stenographers entered announcing Mr. Chaffee
Thayer Sluss. Enter Mayor Sluss, sad, heavy, subdued, shrunken,
a very different gentleman from the one who had talked so cavalierly over the wires some fi ve and a half hours before. Gray weather,
severe cold, and much contemplation of seemingly irreconcilable
facts had reduced his spirits greatly. He was a little pale and a little
restless. Mental distress has a reducing, congealing effect, and Mayor
Sluss seemed somewhat less than his usual self in height, weight,
and thickness. Cowperwood had seen him more than once on various political platforms, but he had never met him. When the troubled mayor entered he arose courteously and waved him to a chair.
«Sit down, Mr. Sluss», he said, genially. «It’s a disagreeable day
out, isn’t it? I suppose you have come in regard to the matter we
were discussing this morning?»
Nor was this cordiality wholly assumed. One of the primal instincts of Cowperwood’s nature — for all his chicane and subtlety —
was to take no rough advantage of a beaten enemy. In the hour of
victory he was always courteous, bland, gentle, and even sympathetic; he was so to-day, and quite honestly, too.
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THEODORE DREISER
Mayor Sluss put down the high sugar-loaf hat he wore and
said, grandiosely, as was his manner even in the direst extremity:
«Well, you see, I am here, Mr. Cowperwood. What is it you wish
me to do, exactly?»
«Nothing unreasonable, I assure you, Mr. Sluss», replied Cowperwood. «Your manner to me this morning was a little brusque,
and, as I have always wanted to have a sensible private talk with
you, I took this way of getting it. I should like you to dismiss from
your mind at once the thought that I am going to take an unfair advantage of you in any way. I have no present intention of publishing
your correspondence with Mrs. Brandon». (As he said this he took
from his drawer a bundle of letters which Mayor Sluss recognized at
once as the enthusiastic missives which he had sometime before
penned to the fair Claudia. Mr. Sluss groaned as he beheld this incriminating evidence.) «I am not trying», continued Cowperwood,
«to wreck your career, nor to make you do anything which you do
not feel that you can conscientiously undertake. The letters that
I have here, let me say, have come to me quite by accident. I did not
seek them. But, since I do have them, I thought I might as well mention them as a basis for a possible talk and compromise between us».
Cowperwood did not smile. He merely looked thoughtfully at
Sluss; then, by way of testifying to the truthfulness of what he had
been saying, thumped the letters up and down, just to show that
they were real.
«Yes», said Mr. Sluss, heavily, «I see».
He studied the bundle — a small, solid affair — while Cowperwood looked discreetly elsewhere. He contemplated his own shoes,
the fl oor. He rubbed his hands and then his knees.
Cowperwood saw how completely he had collapsed. It was ridiculous, pitiable.
«Come, Mr. Sluss», said Cowperwood, amiably, «cheer up. Things
are not nearly as desperate as you think. I give you my word right
now that nothing which you yourself, on mature thought, could say
was unfair will be done. You are the mayor of Chicago. I am a citi-
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THE TITAN
zen. I merely wish fair play from you. I merely ask you to give me
your word of honor that from now on you will take no part in this
fi ght which is one of pure spite against me. If you cannot conscientiously aid me in what I consider to be a perfectly legitimate demand
for additional franchises, you will, at least, not go out of your way to
publicly attack me. I will put these letters in my safe, and there they
will stay until the next campaign is over, when I will take them out
and destroy them. I have no personal feeling against you — none in
the world. I do not ask you to sign any ordinance which the council
may pass giving me elevated-road rights. What I do wish you to do at
this time is to refrain from stirring up public sentiment against me,
especially if the council should see fi t to pass an ordinance over your
veto. Is that satisfactory?»
«But my friends? The public? The Republican party? Don’t you
see it is expected of me that I should wage some form of campaign
against you?» queried Sluss, nervously.
«No, I don’t», replied Cowperwood, succinctly, «and, anyhow,
there are ways and ways of waging a public campaign. Go through
the motions, if you wish, but don’t put too much heart in it. And,
anyhow, see some one of my lawyers from time to time when they
call on you. Judge Dickensheets is an able and fair man. So is General Van Sickle. Why not confer with them occasionally? — not
publicly, of course, but in some less conspicuous way. You will fi nd
both of them most helpful».
Cowperwood smiled encouragingly, quite benefi cently, and
Chaffee Thayer Sluss, his political hopes gone glimmering, sat and
mused for a few moments in a sad and helpless quandary.
«Very well», he said, at last, rubbing his hands feverishly. «It is
what I might have expected. I should have known. There is no other way, but —» Hardly able to repress the hot tears now burning
beneath his eyelids, the Hon. Mr. Sluss picked up his hat and left
the room. Needless to add that his preachings against Cowperwood
were permanently silenced.
CHAPTER XLV
CHANGING HORIZONS
The effect of all this was to arouse in Cowperwood the keenest
feelings of superiority he had ever yet enjoyed. Hitherto he had fancied that his enemies might worst him, but at last his path seemed
clear. He was now worth, all in all, the round sum of twenty million dollars. His art-collection had become the most important in
the West — perhaps in the nation, public collections excluded.
He began to envision himself as a national fi gure, possibly even
an international one. And yet he was coming to feel that, no matter
how complete his fi nancial victory might ultimately be, the chances
were that he and Aileen would never be socially accepted here in
Chicago. He had done too many boisterous things — alienated too
many people. He was as determined as ever to retain a fi rm grip on
the Chicago street-railway situation. But he was disturbed for a second time in his life by the thought that, owing to the complexities of
his own temperament, he had married unhappily and would fi nd
the situation diffi cult of adjustment. Aileen, whatever might be
said of her defi ciencies, was by no means as tractable or acquiescent
as his fi rst wife. And, besides, he felt that he owed her a better turn.
By no means did he actually dislike her as yet; though she was no
longer soothing, stimulating, or suggestive to him as she had formerly been. Her woes, because of him, were too many; her attitude
toward him too censorious. He was perfectly willing to sympathize
with her, to regret his own change of feeling, but what would you?
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THE TITAN
He could not control his own temperament any more than Aileen
could control hers.
The worst of this situation was that it was now becoming complicated on Cowperwood’s part with the most disturbing thoughts
concerning Berenice Fleming. Ever since the days when he had fi rst
met her mother he had been coming more and more to feel for
the young girl a soul-stirring passion — and that without a single
look exchanged or a single word spoken. There is a static something which is beauty, and this may be clothed in the habiliments of
a ragged philosopher or in the silks and satins of pampered coquetry. It was a suggestion of this beauty which is above sex and above
age and above wealth that shone in the blowing hair and night-blue
eyes of Berenice Fleming. His visit to the Carter family at Pocono
had been a disappointment to him, because of the apparent hopelessness of arousing Berenice’s interest, and since that time, and during their casual encounters, she had remained politely indifferent.
Nevertheless, he remained true to his persistence in the pursuit of
any game he had fi xed upon.
Mrs. Carter, whose relations with Cowperwood had in the past
been not wholly platonic, nevertheless attributed much of his interest in her to her children and their vital chance. Berenice and Rolfe
themselves knew nothing concerning the nature of their mother’s
arrangements with Cowperwood. True to his promise of protectorship and assistance, he had established her in a New York apartment adjacent to her daughter’s school, and where he fancied that
he himself might spend many happy hours were Berenice but near.
Proximity to Berenice! The desire to arouse her interest and command her favor! Cowperwood would scarcely have cared to admit
to himself how great a part this played in a thought which had recently been creeping into his mind. It was that of erecting a splendid
house in New York.
By degrees this idea of building a New York house had grown
upon him. His Chicago mansion was a costly sepulcher in which Aileen sat brooding over the woes which had befallen her. Moreover,
395
THEODORE DREISER
aside from the social defeat which it represented, it was becoming
merely as a structure, but poorly typical of the splendor and ability of his imaginations. This second dwelling, if he ever achieved
it, should be resplendent, a monument to himself. In his speculative wanderings abroad he had seen many such great palaces, designed with the utmost care, which had housed the taste and culture of generations of men. His art-collection, in which he took
an immense pride, had been growing, until it was the basis if not
the completed substance for a very splendid memorial. Already in
it were gathered paintings of all the important schools; to say nothing of collections of jade, illumined missals, porcelains, rugs, draperies, mirror frames, and a beginning at rare originals of sculpture.
The beauty of these strange things, the patient laborings of inspired
souls of various times and places, moved him, on occasion, to a gentle awe. Of all individuals he respected, indeed revered, the sincere
artist. Existence was a mystery, but these souls who set themselves to
quiet tasks of beauty had caught something of which he was dimly
conscious. Life had touched them with a vision, their hearts and
souls were attuned to sweet harmonies of which the common world
knew nothing. Sometimes, when he was weary after a strenuous day,
he would enter — late in the night — his now silent gallery, and
turning on the lights so that the whole sweet room stood revealed,
he would seat himself before some treasure, refl ecting on the nature, the mood, the time, and the man that had produced it. Sometimes it would be one of Rembrandt’s melancholy heads — the sad
«Portrait of a Rabbi» — or the sweet introspection of a Rousseau
stream. A solemn Dutch housewife, rendered with the bold fi delity
and resonant enameled surfaces of a Hals or the cold elegance of
an Ingres, commanded his utmost enthusiasm. So he would sit and
wonder at the vision and skill of the original dreamer, exclaiming at
times: «A marvel! A marvel!»
At the same time, so far as Aileen was concerned things were
obviously shaping up for additional changes. She was in that peculiar state which has befallen many a woman — trying to substitute
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THE TITAN
a lesser ideal for a greater, and fi nding that the effort is useless or
nearly so. In regard to her affair with Lynde, aside from the temporary relief and diversion it had afforded her, she was beginning
to feel that she had made a serious mistake. Lynde was delightful,
after his fashion. He could amuse her with a different type of experience from any that Cowperwood had to relate. Once they were
intimate he had, with an easy, genial air, confessed to all sorts of
liaisons in Europe and America. He was utterly pagan — a faun —
and at the same time he was truly of the smart world. His open
contempt of all but one or two of the people in Chicago whom Aileen had secretly admired and wished to associate with, and his easy
references to fi gures of importance in the East and in Paris and London, raised him amazingly in her estimation; it made her feel, sad to
relate, that she had by no means lowered herself in succumbing so
readily to his forceful charms.
Nevertheless, because he was what he was — genial, complimentary, affectionate, but a playboy, merely, and a soldier of fortune, with no desire to make over her life for her on any new basis — she was now grieving over the futility of this romance which
had got her nowhere, and which, in all probability, had alienated
Cowperwood for good. He was still outwardly genial and friendly,
but their relationship was now colored by a sense of mistake and
uncertainty which existed on both sides, but which, in Aileen’s
case, amounted to a subtle species of soul-torture. Hitherto she had
been the aggrieved one, the one whose loyalty had never been in
question, and whose persistent affection and faith had been greatly
sinned against. Now all this was changed. The manner in which he
had sinned against her was plain enough, but the way in which,
out of pique, she had forsaken him was in the other balance. Say
what one will, the loyalty of woman, whether a condition in nature or an evolved accident of sociology, persists as a dominating
thought in at least a section of the race; and women themselves,
be it said, are the ones who most loudly and openly subscribe to it.
Cowperwood himself was fully aware that Aileen had deserted him,
397
THEODORE DREISER
not because she loved him less or Lynde more, but because she was
hurt — and deeply so. Aileen knew that he knew this. From one
point of view it enraged her and made her defi ant; from another
it grieved her to think she had uselessly sinned against his faith in
her. Now he had ample excuse to do anything he chose. Her best
claim on him — her wounds — she had thrown away as one throws
away a weapon. Her pride would not let her talk to him about this,
and at the same time she could not endure the easy, tolerant manner with which he took it. His smiles, his forgiveness, his sometimes
pleasant jesting were all a horrible offense.
To complete her mental quandary, she was already beginning
to quarrel with Lynde over this matter of her unbreakable regard
for Cowperwood. With the suffi ciency of a man of the world Lynde
intended that she should succumb to him completely and forget her wonderful husband. When with him she was apparently
charmed and interested, yielding herself freely, but this was more
out of pique at Cowperwood’s neglect than from any genuine passion for Lynde. In spite of her pretensions of anger, her sneers, and
criticisms whenever Cowperwood’s name came up, she was, nevertheless, hopelessly fond of him and identifi ed with him spiritually, and it was not long before Lynde began to suspect this. Such
a discovery is a sad one for any master of women to make. It jolted
his pride severely.
«You care for him still, don’t you?» he asked, with a wry smile,
upon one occasion. They were sitting at dinner in a private room at
Kinsley’s, and Aileen, whose color was high, and who was becomingly garbed in metallic-green silk, was looking especially handsome.
Lynde had been proposing that she should make special arrangements to depart with him for a three-months’ stay in Europe, but
she would have nothing to do with the project. She did not dare.
Such a move would make Cowperwood feel that she was alienating
herself forever; it would give him an excellent excuse to leave her.
«Oh, it isn’t that», she had declared, in reply to Lynde’s query.
«I just don’t want to go. I can’t. I’m not prepared. It’s nothing but
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THE TITAN
a notion of yours, anyhow. You’re tired of Chicago because it’s getting near spring. You go and I’ll be here when you come back, or
I may decide to come over later». She smiled.
Lynde pulled a dark face.
«Hell!» he said. «I know how it is with you. You still stick to him,
even when he treats you like a dog. You pretend not to love him
when as a matter of fact you’re mad about him. I’ve seen it all along.
You don’t really care anything about me. You can’t. You’re too crazy
about him».
«Oh, shut up!» replied Aileen, irritated greatly for the moment by this onslaught. «You talk like a fool. I’m not anything of
the sort. I admire him. How could any one help it?» (At this time, of
course, Cowperwood’s name was fi lling the city.) «He’s a very wonderful man. He was never brutal to me. He’s a full-sized man — I’ll
say that for him».
By now Aileen had become suffi ciently familiar with Lynde to
criticize him in her own mind, and even outwardly by innuendo, for
being a loafer and idler who had never created in any way the money he was so freely spending. She had little power to psychologize
concerning social conditions, but the stalwart constructive persistence of Cowperwood along commercial lines coupled with the current American contempt of leisure refl ected somewhat unfavorably
upon Lynde, she thought.
Lynde’s face clouded still more at this outburst. «You go to
the devil», he retorted. «I don’t get you at all. Sometimes you talk as
though you were fond of me. At other times you’re all wrapped up in
him. Now you either care for me or you don’t. Which is it? If you’re
so crazy about him that you can’t leave home for a month or so you
certainly can’t care much about me».
Aileen, however, because of her long experience with Cowperwood, was more than a match for Lynde. At the same time she was
afraid to let go of him for fear that she should have no one to care
for her. She liked him. He was a happy resource in her misery, at
least for the moment. Yet the knowledge that Cowperwood looked
399
THEODORE DREISER
upon this affair as a heavy blemish on her pristine solidarity cooled
her. At the thought of him and of her whole tarnished and troubled
career she was very unhappy.
«Hell!» Lynde had repeated, irritably, «stay if you want to. I’ll not
be trying to over-persuade you — depend on that».
They quarreled still further over this matter, and, though they
eventually made up, both sensed the drift toward an ultimately unsatisfactory conclusion.
It was one morning not long after this that Cowperwood, feeling in a genial mood over his affairs, came into Aileen’s room, as he
still did on occasions, to fi nish dressing and pass the time of day.
«Well», he observed, gaily, as he stood before the mirror adjusting his collar and tie, «how are you and Lynde getting along these
days — nicely?»
«Oh, you go to the devil!» replied Aileen, fl aring up and struggling with her divided feelings, which pained her constantly. «If it
hadn’t been for you there wouldn’t be any chance for your smarty
‘how-am-I-getting-alongs.’ I am getting along all right — fi ne — regardless of anything you may think. He’s as good a man as you are
any day, and better. I like him. At least he’s fond of me, and that’s
more than you are. Why should you care what I do? You don’t, so
why talk about it? I want you to let me alone».
«Aileen, Aileen, how you carry on! Don’t fl are up so. I meant
nothing by it. I’m sorry as much for myself as for you. I’ve told you
I’m not jealous. You think I’m critical. I’m not anything of the kind.
I know how you feel. That’s all very good».
«Oh yes, yes», she replied. «Well, you can keep your feelings to
yourself. Go to the devil! Go to the devil, I tell you!» Her eyes blazed.
He stood now, fully dressed, in the center of the rug before her,
and Aileen looked at him, keen, valiant, handsome — her old Frank.
Once again she regretted her nominal faithlessness, and raged at
him in her heart for his indifference. «You dog», she was about to
add, «you have no heart!» but she changed her mind. Her throat
tightened and her eyes fi lled. She wanted to run to him and say: «Oh,
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